


Relief Next to Me

by thekingofcarrotflowers



Series: Closer [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bonding over books, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Fever Dreams, Friendship, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Iron Bull, Protective Krem returns, Sickfic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/pseuds/thekingofcarrotflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning from Crestwood, Dorian comes down with a nasty cold and Krem ends up taking care of him. Dorian's fever reveals some things about his past, and Krem's protective side returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief Next to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Again, a big thanks for duprass42.tumblr.com for beta-ing this series for me! I'm sorry it's slow going sometimes, and my writing might remain slow because I'm going tack to grad school. Anyways, hope you enjoy some Krem/Dorian sickfic!

Krem had the book by Brother Genitivi for two weeks now. He’d forced himself to read through it — the beginning was all endless introductions and dull explanations of what the book would contain. Bull had come across him glaring down at the thing in his lap more than once, laughed loudly at him before claiming Dorian wouldn’t be too pleased if he burned a hole in it with his glare. Once he was past all the rambling introductions (and, admittedly, the large amount of words he had to jot down to look up later), the _Myths and Legends_ weren’t half bad. There was some tale about a ghost ship on the Waking Sea that meant violent death by those who saw it, which set Krem’s hair on end, and another about a lost city of Barindur that disappeared after some pompous king turned away a high priest was pretty eerie as well. All-in-all, Krem enjoyed it enough to be able to talk to Dorian about some of the contents, and being able to talk to the man about something more than Fereldan ale and Cole’s antics was an improvement.

  
“Hey, Sera,” Krem hurried into the tavern after finishing the book in his quarters, the elf having returned from Crestwood a few days prior. She was perched on a table, legs dangling off the side as she talked animatedly to Dagna about how they would best modify her flaming arrows for maximum fire damage, “Dorian still hasn’t been in?”

  
“Think his sniffles turned into a full-blown snotfest,” she shrugged slightly, thinking back to the last leg of their trip, “Barely complained during the hike up the Frostbacks, now that I think about it. Isn’t like him, izzit? Hope the git’s alright.”

  
Krem cursed quietly, knowing that a not-complaining Dorian was a truly miserable Dorian. It seemed that whenever things the worse for the man, like when he’d been struggling before and after meeting his father again, he cut himself off and tried to put on a brave face so the others wouldn’t quite know how bad things were. He had checked the library first, finding it empty and still, and Fiona claimed not to have seen him recently either.

  
“We could make him some cookies,” Sera offered, realizing it had been a few days since she’d seen Dorian either.

  
“No, I think he’ll be better off without them,” Krem crinkled his nose, having suffered through one of Sera’s treats before.

  
“Oi, don’t be rude!” Sera growled, and Dagna slapped her leg teasingly to get her back on the topic of flaming arrows before she could launch into a full-fledged rant about what cookies meant to her again.

  
Instead, Krem made his way towards the kitchen. He was in good with the staff, having helped unload the carts stacked with heavy bags of flour and bushels of apples and kegs of dinner wine before. It wouldn’t be hard to have someone whip up a plate for him to take with him, knowing that Dorian was cooped up in his room meant that Dorian probably hadn’t eaten much for a few days, either. Loaded up with oatmeal and fruits and bread, as well as a hot pot of tea, he made his way up to Dorian’s quarters, book tucked under his armpit.

  
Krem rapped sharply on the door, hearing a flurry of movement and a fit of coughing. He winced in sympathy at the raw rasp and the wet hacking, and wondered if he shouldn’t have bothered the man if he was resting. He lingered, unsure of his course of action and not hearing any more movement inside, debating whether or not to just slip a note under the door and head off. Then, there was a shuffling noise and the door opened enough for Dorian to peek out, mustache drooping, hair a sweaty mess, rings under his eyes, nose red and raw from running. He wore some sort of sleep thing that hung off his shoulder slightly, something thin and flimsy, tied around his waist. If Dorian didn’t look so ill, it would be endearing to see the usually coiffed mage looking so disheveled.

  
Dorian squinted at him like he wasn’t sure who he was seeing before saying, “Ah, Cremisius.”

  
“Thought I should return your book, maybe trade it for another,” Krem shrugged his shoulder holding the book, and Dorian’s bleary eyes fell on it tucked beneath his arm. A smile crossed his face, his eyes look a little brighter, and that was a relief, “Also, brought you something to eat since you seemed to have disappeared without a trace from Skyhold.”

  
Dorian flapped his hand, beckoning him inside, “Let’s talk inside. Excuse the mess, I … haven’t felt up to organizing since my return.”

  
Krem hesitated. Dorian’s offer suddenly seemed like some big, private piece of the man was being given to Krem, and Krem wondered if Dorian would do the same if he wasn’t feverish and sick. He knew that even the Bull hadn’t seen the inside of his room, despite having to nearly hammer down the door on more than one morning where Dorian was late for a mission. He swallowed and stepped through the threshold, finding himself staring about in mild disbelief.

  
There was little there. The bed was decent, large but rather lopsided. The desk looked wobbly as well, and the plush chair set before the hearth had more than a few spots where stuffing was starting to poke out. Dorian’s clothing was currently spilling out of a dresser, as if the man had made an attempt to tidy up or get dressed before losing interest (or energy). The most abundant things were books, of all shapes and sizes, set on any flat surface available yet looking well-taken-care-of. The air in the room felt thick and stuffy, and Krem glanced at the closed windows, heavy, dusty drapes obscuring the outside, and he frowned. All in all, it was dingy and drab and not Dorian at all.

  
“Have you left the room since you got back?” Krem asked, returning his gaze to Dorian. He was wiping at his running nose with a handkerchief, half-turned away in an effort to be polite. His eyes roamed over Dorian’s dark, smooth skin, more of it exposed than Krem had seen before. Instead of it being a welcome thing — those long, lean legs, the peek of shoulder, the v-neck of the sleepthing revealing much of Dorian’s chest — it’s concerning. Beads of sweat clung to the man, and he looked flushed from nearly head to toe.

  
“Retrieved a few books from the library upon my arrival, to tide me over during my recovery,” sniffed Dorian, settling down on the edge of his bed now. Krem’s eyes flickered to the amount of books in the room, and he wondered why Dorian would need to bring more from the library, “I believe I got breakfast yesterday… Haven’t much of an appetite, really. What day is it?”

  
“Thursday.”

  
“Ah. So, not yesterday.”

  
“Dorian, I think you’re really ill,” Krem grumbled, setting the book and tray of food on a clear space on the dresser before crossing towards the man. He reached out a hand, pausing before touching Dorian’s forehead to give him time to pull away. When he didn’t, Krem pressed the back of his hand to Dorian’s flesh, finding it sweaty and on-fire. Krem hissed slightly in displeasure, expression going worried.

  
“Nonsense,” Dorian ducked away then, trying to tilt his chin up, but it made his throat stretch and hurt, and his head spin, and he decided against it, “Maybe a little.”

  
“Lay down, you stubborn ass.”

  
“Shall you be my healer?” Dorian teased, bleary eyes a little more focused again, and that eased a little of the unease in Krem’s stomach.

  
“If that’s what it takes to get you on the mend,” Krem snorted, rolling his eyes. He crossed back towards the dresser, snatching up both the book and the tray of food things, before returning to Dorian’s bedside. He was nestling back amongst his pillows, which looked lumpy and not very comfortable. Carefully, Krem set the book on the nightstand on top of a small stack of literature and presented the foodstuff to Dorian. The mage eyed it suspiciously, as if it might bite, “Got it from the kitchen.”

  
“I gathered as much, since there’s not the layer of grease I attribute to Cabot’s culinary exploits. I’m just … surprised, I suppose,” Dorian shrugged, finally relaxing back against the headboard, “What did you think? Of the book.”

  
“It was good,” Krem nodded, plopping the tray in Dorian’s lap, careful not to spill the quickly cooling pot of tea, “I’ll talk to you about it as you eat.”

  
Dorian crinkled his nose, “You drive a hard bargain.” He picked up a couple of berries and popped them into his mouth, looking expectant.

  
“Particularly liked the creepy ones,” Krem nodded, “Ghost ships and all that.”

  
“Yes, the Windline Marcher. Glad I didn’t come across _that_ during my journey across the Waking Sea, which was ghastly enough,” Dorian smirked slightly, dark lips stained red from the berries he was slowly chewing on.

  
“You traveled out of Kirkwall, then?” Krem asked, thinking back to the story and how the sentries of the city occasionally claimed to see the cursed ship.

  
Dorian looked impressed. He wasn’t sure if Krem would actually read the book, and he was pleasantly surprised they were chatting about it now:

  
“Yeah, what a shit hole.”

  
They chatted easily about the book as Dorian grudgingly ate, making pained faces as he swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. The conversation flowed between the more interesting tales from the collection, and the connections to their lives they made. Krem learned a little of Dorian’s trip south, of some of the spots along the Imperial Highway Dorian passed (grubby little villages and other dirty, failing cities, which Krem shouldn’t have been so surprised about considering Dorian ended up in _Kirkwall_ ), and a few hints of the less-than-comfortable living arrangements Dorian had during that time. It didn’t sit well with Krem, even though he was used to the Chargers having to sleep on the side of the road or pile into run-down hostels when civilization or work was sparse. And yet, the thought of Dorian struggling to get by made his chest ache.

  
Krem mentioned his journey south, retold how Bull lost his eye for the millionth time, and found Dorian watching him with wide, interested eyes. It was comfortable, and Krem found himself sitting on the end of Dorian’s bed as they exchanged stories and information. However, before long, Dorian’s voice had gone raw and his hands were unsteady as he drank the tea and he fell into coughing fits regularly. The honey and elfroot in the tea seemed to be making Dorian drowsy, his eyelids gone heavy, and Krem watched him carefully. He dropped his voice to lower tones, speaking slow and soothing, slipping into Tevene.  It had his intended effect, Dorian’s chin nodding, hitting his chest once, before he jerked himself back into awareness.

  
“It’s alright, Dorian. You should sleep,” Krem murmured, standing and taking the now-empty cup and half-full plates away from Dorian.

  
“Not a very good host,” Dorian mumbled in reply, peeping up at Krem from behind sleepy heavy lashes, and it took everything in Krem not to reach out and run his hand across Dorian’s cheek or through his hair.

  
“Nah, it was a nice way to pass the afternoon,” Krem assured him, smirking gently, and Dorian clucked softly in reply as he head settled back against the pillows. A moment more, and Dorian was out, snoring gently, tangled in his sheets, one arm hanging off the bed.

 

\---

  
  
Krem didn’t feel comfortable leaving Dorian’s side. He really didn’t seem well, and he knew common colds were oddly difficult to heal, sometimes just needing to work their course. Making his decision, he tucked Dorian in once he was sure the man was sleeping and then hefted the old armchair across the room. He let out a stream of curses as a spring snagged at his arm, leaving a jagged scratch across his skin, and decided to find a way to get Dorian a better armchair. Sitting an arm’s length away, Krem snatched up another book Dorian had gestured at earlier, trying to get lost in the words. Instead, he often found himself watching Dorian intently, watching the rise and fall of his chest under his sweat-damp sleepwear, studying the line of his jaw and the bump in his nose and the beauty mark under his eye.

  
Despite the elfroot and the rest, the fever lingered, making Dorian shift uncomfortably in his bed. Krem frowned at the strained, pained look that often found its way into Dorian’s face as he slept. After managing to actually read a few pages, Krem found that same distressed look on Dorian’s face, and decided to fetch Stitches soon if he didn’t seem better in another couple of pages.

  
As Krem neared his stopping point in reading, Dorian began to grumble in his sleep, his tossing growing more twitchy and worrying. Krem’s attention snapped back to him, watching intently. He was unsure whether to try to rouse him or not, not wanting to scare him more by shaking him out of sleep, having seen both Bull and Skinner lash out when they were startled from sleep.

  
“No, don’t,” Dorian whined, twitching. Krem reached out, hand hovering inches from Dorian’s overly-warm skin, “No, no, please. Not this.”

  
Krem bit his lip, feeling intrusive again, knowing this wasn’t something he was meant to hear. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to know who Dorian was talking to or about. There was a sinking feeling of dread in his gut, and he tried to swallow down the rising bile.

  
“No, please, _Father_!” Dorian cried out, and Krem grabbed at his arm in a panic of his own. Dorian screamed, eyes flying open, wide and glossy and terrified. He was wrenching out of Krem’s gasp, scrambling backwards and away, a barrier flickering into existences between them. Krem smacked into it when he started forward to somehow comfort Dorian. He scolded himself for reacting so brashly, but the fear had been so palpable from Dorian that it sent a jolt into his heart, making him act out.

  
“Dorian, wait, I’m sorry,” Krem said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace, “It’s me. It’s Krem.”

  
He couldn’t bare to see the pure fear in Dorian’s eyes, couldn’t be the reason Dorian was looking like _that_. His chest was heaving, sweat making his hair and tunic stick to his flushed skin, limbs trembling. He’d seen Dorian face down demons and Red Templars and death back in Haven, seen him nearly blown back down the steep hill on the trek through the snow to Skyhold, seen him be ridiculed and harassed by Inquisition soldiers, and never once had Dorian had a look so full of fear in his eyes. Krem swallowed hard, feeling a sob in the back of his own throat threaten.

  
“Krem?” he repeated, sounding unsure and distant. The barrier wavered only slightly.

  
“Yeah, it’s just Krem. I was here about the book, remember?”

  
“Just Krem,” Dorian repeated hoarsely, chest still rising and falling too rapidly, eyes still wild, but he wasn’t scrambling across the bed anymore. The barrier shimmered away, but Dorian’s eyes flickered around the room, unfocused, and it scared Krem.

  
“I should go get someone—”

  
_Better at handling this,_ Krem’s brain supplied as he was cut off.

  
“Don’t go,”Dorian said, lurching forward to grab the front of Krem’s shirt as he started to rise, “I don’t want to be alone again. He might come back.”

  
Krem winced at that. Gently, he wrapped his arms around the still-shaking man. Dorian collapsed against his chest, fingers digging into his clothes like he might disappear if he let go. He buried his face in the crook of his arm, trying desperately to catch his breath.

  
“I’ll stay. I won’t let him hurt you again,” Krem breathed against his sweaty hair, running a hand down Dorian’s spine. He swore it to Dorian, and to himself. Dorian’s _father_. He was so scared of his own _father_. Sure, he hadn’t talked to his mother since before he joined the army, but he wasn’t terrified of her. His blood was boiling and he felt his own hands shaking as he held onto Dorian, wished he knew what to say to make this right, knowing nothing really could. Dorian whined slightly, and Krem muttered in Tevene, some story his mother told him before bed as a child, something about the first dreamers and all the wonders they saw in the Fade.

  
“Dorian,” Krem wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the man had finally relaxed in his grip. He wasn’t sure if he was still awake, but when he said his name, he shifted slightly.

  
“Krem,” Dorian answered, turning his head so he could look up at the man who arms were so securely wrapped around him. He still looked so fragile and scared, “I almost forgot it was you.”

  
“Yeah, still me,” Krem said gently, wishing he could tell Dorian that it could always be him, if that was what he wanted, “Look, I think I need to get Stitches or a healer or someone. You’re really burning up. Will you be okay? I won’t be five minutes.”

  
Dorian had gone tense again at the thought of being left alone, leaving the demons that were waiting on the edge of his visions to creep in and swallow him whole.

  
“I could … get a scout to go fetch him,” Krem decided, hoping he could catch someone passing by Dorian’s room. It was just after dinner, so it shouldn’t be too hard, “I’ll just be at the door, then.”

  
Even then, Dorian seemed reluctant to let go. Patiently, Krem untangled his fingers from his shirt, and stood slowly. He spoke to Dorian, softly and evenly, as he crossed the room and pulled open the door, reassuring him he wasn’t going anywhere far. It took a few minutes of Krem murmuring to Dorian over his shoulder while watching the corridor out of the corner of his eye, before Krem caught sight of a soldier. He breathed a sigh of relief that it was one of those redheads Bull had been bringing around, someone who knew both the Chargers and Dorian and treated them alright.

  
“Auden, was it?” Krem called down the hall, the man turning towards him and waving brightly, “Hey, c’mere for a minute?”

  
Auden hurried over, brow furrowed slightly, noticing the tense look about Krem, “Everything alright?”

  
“Could you fetch Stitches? He should be in the tavern about now, and if he isn’t, Bull or Skinner’ll find ‘im,” Krem said, keeping the door positioned so Auden couldn’t see into the room. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the man, but he knew that Dorian would be embarrassed later about the state he was in, and he was trying to keep his exposure to the masses at a minimum, “Tell him Dorian’s got a bad fever, got it?”

  
“Stitches, fever, got it,” Auden said dutifully, like the well-trained soldier he was, before nodding and heading off towards the tavern.

 

\---

  
  
It took a lot longer than Krem hoped for someone to rapped quietly at the door. He had settled next to Dorian on the bed, the man sinking into his grip and fading in and out of consciousness. Krem continued to drone on soothing words, nonsensical reassurances, keeping Dorian relatively sated for now.

  
“About damn time,” Krem grunted at the door, loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear, “Come in.”

  
When the door carefully swung open, Dorian pressed tighter against Krem again. Another stream of reassuring Tevene fell from Krem’s mouth as he nodded a greeting to Stitches and the Bull. The two of them lingered by the door for a minute as Dorian’s foggy eyes scanned over the room again. Bull looked concerned, while Stitches’ face was already set into the one of mild indifference he got when he was doing serious work.

  
“Jus’ Stitches and the Chief, alright?” Krem stated to Dorian, “They’re here to help you feel better.”

  
Dorian looked skeptical for a moment before he nodded, and Krem feeling privileged to somehow have got Dorian’s trust.

  
“Has he been like this long?” Stitches questioned, setting his bag of supplies at the foot of the bed.

  
“Since he woke up again. He fell asleep for a while, and he was fine earlier. Well, not fine, but not this,” Krem explained. Stitches reached out for Dorian’s hand, the mage glowering down at it, before Stitches smiled gently. Even if the man was prickly and gruff normally, Stitches knew how to adapt to his patients as needed.

  
“Dorian, I’ll need Krem to get out of the way for just a minute so I can see how to make you feel better,” Stitches said evenly, smile soft and patient. Tentatively, Dorian extended his hand to Stitches, and then Stitches gestured for Krem to step aside. It took a moment to extract himself from Dorian, and he crossed the room to stand by Bull in the doorway. It was a relief to feel the breeze fluttering into the room, Dorian having been hot and sticky at his side, the room heavy and stifling.

  
“Bull,” Krem said, eyes not leaving Dorian, “What do you know about Magister Halward?” He didn’t even want to call him Dorian’s _father_ , he didn’t deserve such a title.

  
Bull scratched the scruff on his chin, eyes also focused on the exchange happening across the room, “A bit. Pretty sure he’s on the top five list of people I’d like to beat to a pulp. Also sure there’s a lore more that I don’t know, but all of that is his to tell you.”

  
Krem grunted, not entirely pleased by the answer, but knowing the Chief was right. They stood there tensely for a long while, Stitches working his type of magic. A few times, Krem was worried Dorian was on the verge of panicking again, his words coming out quick, part-Common and part-Tevene. Stitches was surprisingly patient about it, not snapping at him like he often did with the Chargers, and Krem was relieved the man was able to keep Dorian from flying into a frenzy again. By the time Stitches was done, Dorian was already looking a little better as he slipped back into sleep.

  
“He should be fine,” Stitches sighed, packing his things up again, “You better keep an eye on him. Why didn’t you get me sooner?”

  
“I didn’t realize he was this sick until,” Krem swallowed hard at the memory of Dorian scrambling back, casting a barrier to keep him _away_ , “Until he started having nightmares.”

  
“Next time, get me before someone starts _hallucinating_ ,” Stitches said with a slight snarl, before setting a number of things on the bedside. Krem recognized them as some of Stitches go-to healing potions and remedies. He was given his instructions to get Dorian to drink some of this one the next time he woke up, and drink some of that one with food sometime after that. Krem nodded dutifully, and Stitches pushed past him, grumbling under his breath.

  
“You good, Krempuff?” Bull asked gently, hand rubbing at Krem’s shoulder.

“He was so scared, Chief,” Krem said quietly, looking down at the now-peacefully sleeping mage.

  
“Yeah, fevers can do some fucked up shit.”

  
Krem nodded, knowing it was more than just some wild fever-dream and more of a recurring nightmare of Dorian’s, a recurring echo of something awful. His mind hummed, an awful clamor of possibilities looming in his head that he had to shake away, had to dig his nails into his palms to chase those thoughts away.

  
“He’ll be alright. Dorian’s a survivor.”

  
Bull lingered for a while, until he was sure Krem was more at ease. Dorian hadn’t stirred once, hadn’t tossed or turned like earlier, and Krem settled down into the chair. The light outside faded into darkness, and Krem managed to light the hearth to let a pale glow fill the room, allow him to be able to better watch Dorian as he slept. Before long, exhaustion pulled at Krem, his nerves frazzled and his mind heavy with the day’s events, and he fell asleep.

 

\---

  
  
A dry cough woke Krem, and he bolted upright. That damned spring was digging into his side now, and he let out a small hiss at the bite of pain.

  
“Dorian?” Krem asked the shifting form in the bed.

  
“Krem?” he replied, sounding more like himself. He still sounded drained and bleary, but more put together, “You’re … still here?”

  
“Think I’m just going to leave you when you’re hacking up a lung?” Krem questioned, keeping his tone lighthearted as he studied Dorian. The man was trying to push himself up, and Krem moved forward to help prop him against the mound of pillows. He grabbed at the pitcher of water, pouring some into a glass and handing it over, “Not too fast, you’ll make yourself sick.”

  
Once Dorian had taken a few long, glorious gulps, Krem handed the potion over. It was thick and brown, and Dorian’s nose scrunched at the smell. Krem shrugged.

  
“Sure to scare away whatever is ailing you, Stitches’ guarantee,” Krem insisted, “Drink it, then you’ll get more water.”

  
Dorian did as he was told, pulling a face that made Krem laugh as he choked down the elixir. Then, Krem had a fresh glass of water under his nose for Dorian to wash the rest of the thick liquid away with.

  
“How long have you been here?” Dorian asked, the last few days seeming far-off.  
“Most of the day,” Krem shrugged.

  
“I wasn’t too much trouble, was I?” Dorian asked sheepishly.

  
“No, not at all,” Krem said with a gentle smile. Dorian looked skeptical, like something was lingering at the edge of his memory, but he wasn’t sure exactly what. Krem wasn’t about to bring up what had happened, to make Dorian relive whatever awful memory had been replaying in his mind now that he was feeling better. When Dorian continued to look stressed and uncertain, Krem cleared his throat and continued, “Started reading Fade and Spirits Mysterious, by the way. Didn’t get too far, but the first one about the Nightmare demons was a dozy.”

  
Dorian looked surprised again, eyes bright with intrigue, “You read some of it.”

  
“Yeah, sure,” Krem said dismissively, “What else was there to do?”

  
Dorian was smiling, shaking his head gently in disbelief, “Thank you, Cremisius. Despite what you say, I’m sure it hasn’t been much fun taking care of a ill Magister.”

  
“Altus,” Krem corrected quickly, and then gave a lopsided smile. Dorian returned it, bright and real, and Krem was glad he stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me or request things you'd like to see from this series here: thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com/


End file.
